


Half Dead

by CaptainAFAB



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst, Depression, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Homelessness, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Loneliness, M/M, Post-War, Repressed Memories, Surreal, Unreliable Narrator, Wakes & Funerals, hawnk, it is also a ghost story, this is a story about acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAFAB/pseuds/CaptainAFAB
Summary: Hawkeye throws Frank out, leaving him stranded in the cold, a thousand miles from Indiana. He doesn't make it back.
Relationships: Frank Burns/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 25
Kudos: 11





	1. Walking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Armistice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534607) by [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms). 



> this is essentially an AU of holograms's series [Whiskey Tango Foxtrot](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764913). (specifically the most recent work Armistice, but you should read the whole thing. you will NOT regret it, promise) it's set At Some Point~ after frank moves back to maine with hawk. peaches said "hawnk in maine" and I said "but make it sad"
> 
> this story has a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/553J9BcwF7oqeE9WVd9DdC?si=ziz-hORdQfeE8PzfGpJVRg) and it is almost entirely the 2006 album Get Lonely by The Mountain Goats.
> 
> fun fact of the day: ghosts are canon in M*A*S*H <3
> 
> as always, unending thanks to the REAL mvp [peaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms) for creating a universe in which this AU could exist and for helping me figure out how to write this. also a big thanks to [Lee](https://oolongteawithpudding.tumblr.com/) who helped beta! <3
> 
> love you all,  
> please enjoy ~

Frank had been foolish. Delivering such an ultimatum could not have ended well under the best of circumstances. He doesn’t know why he had gotten his hopes up.  _ “Me, or the drink,” _ he had said, honestly believing Hawkeye would choose him. They’d been living and working together so long… it had been going so well. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to consider what would happen when the answer was  _ gin. _

It only took him a few hours to get out of Maine (Crabapple Cove is a border town). A nice old man in a truck had picked him up and driven him about forty miles south on his first day. Frank had made it the rest of the way out of New Hampshire on foot. It wasn’t so bad at first, really. All those calisthenics had kept him in good shape and the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the ground helps to clear his head. 

Now, Frank checks into a dingy roadside motel and uses what little money he has to rent a room for the night. He showers, dries off, then realizes he doesn’t have any clean clothes to change into. Sighing, he wraps the towel around his waist and climbs in between the sheets. He rubs at the blisters forming on his toes and heels and falls asleep curled around a pillow (tearstained).

By his third morning, he isn’t even crying anymore. He uses up the last of his money at a diner just outside of Boston. Eggs (real), bacon (crisp), coffee (hot). It’s a suitable last meal for now. Frank hopes it will give him enough fuel to make it to Connecticut today. Maybe someone else will take pity on him and give him another ride. (Yesterday, he rode for about ten miles before the couple who picked him up got sick of him.) 

The wind that morning has taken on a particularly biting chill for early November. Clouds are beginning to darken the morning sky. He zips up his coat as far as it will go and sets out. Maybe if he can get south quickly enough it won’t be so bad. By late afternoon, the sun is going down, taking with it what little warmth it provides. With every breath, he feels his nostrils try to fuse together (the air doing its best to freeze the snot in his nose) while his lungs burn from the cold air. It’s enough to take his breath away. His fingers have gone numb inside his gloves and his cheeks have that painful prickly feeling despite the scarf wrapped around them.

He enters a particularly seedy-looking area of town. There are three people huddled together in a small, grassy park, warming themselves over a barrel fire. It reminds him of Korea. He almost smiles.

Walking over to them, he asks, “Mind if I join you?”

One of them (tall with a gaunt face) looks him up and down, glances back at the other two. “S’a free country,” the man says, shrugging. 

Frank nods his thanks. Removing his gloves and placing them into his pockets, he begins to warm his hands. He holds them there, letting the flames lick up and kiss at his fingertips until feeling comes back. Briefly, he considers asking the man where he usually sleeps (maybe he would know a place Frank could go?) but he ultimately decides to keep moving. Maybe he’ll come across a church somewhere that will let him spend the night… 

It’s just as he is turning to leave that he feels a sharp pain at the back of his head and broken glass cascades down his shoulders. Dazed, he falls to the ground, skinning the palms of his hands against the concrete. The gaunt man delivers several swift kicks to his gut and ribs while the other two strip him of his coat. They take his scarf, his hat, his boots, and leave him, beaten on the ground. He lies there, feeling the first flakes of snow melting on his cheeks. 

After some time, Frank manages to get up, limp his way over to a wooden bench, and collapse down onto it. He pulls the long sleeves of his (Hawkeye’s) sweater over his hands, shaking from both the cold and the shock. He looks down at his socks and a thought floats its way into his head.  _ At least I won’t have boot blisters anymore. _ He lets the cold numb him to the pain (broken ribs, maybe?) and lays his head down on the bench. Eventually, Frank gives into the pounding in his skull, closing his eyes and letting his concussion do as it may. He doesn’t have the strength to fight it. 

He is stiff and freezing when he wakes, covered in a light dusting of white. It can’t have been long, since the snow hasn’t had enough time to accumulate. His teeth are chattering and he is shaking uncontrollably now. Somehow, he wills himself onward. Frank knows he has to get out of this part of town. He heads to the road and tries to flag down passing cars. He must be quite a sight (bruised, bloodied, broken) so it’s no wonder no one will stop for him anymore. 

With no shoes, his toes are so numb he can hardly feel the ground beneath his feet. Frank walks as far as he can before he stumbles and collapses again. This time, he lets the sky cover him in its pale blanket. Slowly, his shaking subsides until everything is still. He’s never noticed how beautiful falling snow can be before. He cannot see the moon behind the clouds but he knows it’s there because the sky seems to glow softly around the dark falling flakes. It’s odd, how the contrast of colors is reversed when he looks up. He has to keep blinking the snow out of his eyes. That’s okay. They’re too heavy to keep open anyway. 

There is a certain sound (a crinkling, soft noise) that snow makes. He hums along to the melody. 

Then someone is calling Frank’s name.  _ He _ is calling Frank’s name. He found him. Of course he did. Frank knew he would. It was only a matter of time. 

_ “I’m so sorry, Frank, I’m so so so sorry. I never should have thrown you out. This is all my fault. Please, Frank, please. You have to forgive me. Please be alive.” _

Hawkeye wraps his coat around Frank and picks him up in his strong arms. He carries him into the car and drives them to a hotel (not a hospital?). There is a queen bed waiting for them and a tub in the bathroom. Hawkeye strips Frank out of his dirty, wet clothes and runs him a hot bath. He gingerly places him into it and washes the dried blood off Frank’s palms and out of his hair until the bathwater is a pleasant shade of pink. 

It’s funny how similar the feeling of freezing is to burning. The moment Frank’s feet enter the hot water they feel far colder than they had been a moment ago. He doesn’t say anything though, just lets his skin prickle with heat until his pale toes turn red. The feeling of blood flowing back into his extremities is a new kind of pain and his shivers return with the warmth. (It takes his mind off the aching of his ribs, at least.)

Hawkeye lathers up some shampoo and gently works it into Frank’s hair. He massages his scalp and pours clean water over his head to rinse away the suds. Again, Hawkeye works soap into a lather and starts massaging his neck, shoulders, and biceps. He repeats the rinse and clean water flows over Frank’s torso and back, warming the skin it touches. He washes behind Frank’s ears and it is the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced. No one has ever been this gentle with him (it feels weird). Hawkeye is murmuring to him the whole time, countless apologies and pleading with him to say something, anything. Frank just rocks back and forth slightly and every so often an involuntary tremor wracks his body. 

The bathwater has started to go cold. Hawkeye pulls the stopper from the drain and fills the tub back up with fresh, hot water at the same time. Frank can feel currents of heat swirl around him, warming his legs again. He watches the bubbles slowly dissipate from the surface of the water while Hawkeye finishes washing his legs. Once Frank’s whole body is clean, Hawkeye drains the water again and dries his hair. It feels like when he was a child and Mother would towel him off after his nightly bath. She would wrap the towel underneath his arms, tucking it in tight so it stayed even if he didn’t hold it (this was called a “whomp-whomp” because that’s what she said when she did it).

Hawkeye manages to get him dry and out of the tub. He wraps a towel around Frank’s waist, draping a second one over his shoulders. Pulling the covers back, he lays Frank down on the bed. Hawkeye clothes him with a pair of flannel pajamas and puts woolen socks onto his feet (did he bring extra clothes for Frank?). Somehow, it doesn’t make him any warmer (confusing). Frank’s breaths are short and sharp. He can’t relax because his body still hasn’t stopped trying to force warmth into him with its convulsions. Lying down beside him, Hawkeye wraps him up in the comforter, enveloping Frank in his arms. He shushes him, petting his hair and holding him close. Only, Frank can’t feel it anymore. (He can’t feel anything anymore.)

He must have fallen asleep or something because when he opens his eyes the sun is blindingly bright. Its reflection glints off the whiteness all around him. He shuts his eyes, brings a hand up to shield his face while he adjusts to the light. When he opens them again, he looks down at his feet. He is still wearing his wet socks from last night and standing (standing?) atop almost a foot of snow. He takes a few steps forward but does not break through the crust. He looks over his shoulder to see that he has left no prints. (He keeps walking.)

_ “Come back to bed, Frankie,” _ Hawk says. Frank turns and finds him lying in bed, reaching out to invite him back in. Frank takes a step forward. Hawk smiles.  _ “Lay with me for a while longer.”  _

Frank lets the blinding light fade around the corners of his vision. He walks back into the bedroom (theirs) and lies down again next to Hawkeye (his). He stays for a while (hours?) and lets Hawk hold him. The sound of wind blowing through the open window comes to the forefront of his thoughts. Why would Hawk leave it open all night? It might rain soon. The sheets would get all wet. 

_ “Hey, don’t worry about that,”  _ Hawk says.  _ “Just kiss me.” _

He pulls Frank close and they kiss, long and tender and slow. It’s perfect. It’s empty. It’s cold. 

Hawk smells like water. Musty in a… specific way Frank can’t put his finger on. Like a wet coat, dripping with melted snow. 

When Frank turns away, he’s outside again, still walking forward. He comes to a stop before a lump in the snow. He hears Hawk calling faintly from behind him. No. He has to figure out what’s happening. 

Frank glances around, trying to find someone who might explain. He spots a woman walking her dog and approaches.

“Excuse me,” he says, making a friendly gesture to the dog, “maybe you can help me—” 

The dog interrupts him with a low noise and warning bark, baring its teeth. 

“Bad dog, Max, stop that!” the woman scolds, pulling at the leash in an attempt to settle Max (who is now lunging at him, barking angrily).

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think he likes me.”

“I don’t know  _ what’s  _ gotten into you! Barking at nothing...” she grumbles, dragging the scared creature away. Frank watches them until the dog picks up a scent and pulls her in another direction.

_ “Shh, it’s okay,” _ Hawk tells him,  _ “just let me hold you.” _

So he lets him. He sinks back down into his embrace and stays there for a while (days?) until he can’t ignore the sound of his alarm clock anymore. The incessant siren only grows louder until he can clearly see the large snow-covered lump at his feet. He doesn’t want to look—to uncover what lies beneath.

The white snow glows faintly in the darkness: blue, red, blue again. Diamonds glittering in patriotic splendor. Hawkeye would hate it. 

Someone’s approaching (a cop). Maybe he can help? But he just walks right past, right  _ through _ him, and squats down to investigate the pile of snow. Frank shudders as an icy chill runs down his spine. (He thought he was numb, but cold always finds a way.)

“Yes, Officer, right there,” the woman tells him, a twinge of fear in her voice. “That’s where Max found…” she turns away and sobs into her scarf.

No. No, no, no. He turns away from the sight of the frozen body. His body. This can’t be real. He can’t be dead—he’s standing right here! Isn’t he? A dream. This is all a dream. He will close his eyes and when he opens them he’s going to be back in his warm bed with Hawk again. He scrunches his face to make sure his eyes are shut tight… He thinks he can hear the faint sound of Hawk breathing next to him. He smiles. 


	2. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are many realizations. (updated tags)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story has a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/553J9BcwF7oqeE9WVd9DdC?si=ziz-hORdQfeE8PzfGpJVRg)
> 
> fun fact of the day: hawk's service number is O19905607 (as stated in The Late Captain Pierce). based on the first 2 numbers, this would indicate that he was regular army, enlisted in WW2, and was from the west coast.  
> (click [here](https://captainafab.tumblr.com/post/642849067776573440/fun-fact-hawkeyes-service-number-is-o19905607) for more info and to see a pic of my replica tags)
> 
> as always, HUGE thanks to [peaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms) and [Lee](https://oolongteawithpudding.tumblr.com/) for all their help!
> 
> love you all,  
> please enjoy ~

When Frank opens his eyes again, he’s looking down at his own face (pale, lips blue, frost clinging to his hair). The cop is searching his body, trying to find some ID. He won’t be successful (Frank’s wallet had been stolen along with his coat). 

“Pierce, Benjamin F. Poor bastard,” says the cop, reading from the dog tags hanging around the body’s neck. 

_Oh, fuck._ Frank forgot he had been wearing Hawkeye’s (stolen) tags. He doesn’t know why he took them. He hadn’t even thought about it—just saw them on the dresser and swiped them on his way out the door. Maybe he just wanted some fragment of tangible evidence that their relationship had once existed. Frank doesn’t think Hawkeye noticed, he was too busy shouting and drinking and sulking.

Frank watches, helpless, as they load his body into an ambulance. All he can do is follow them to the county morgue and listen in horror while the coroner contacts the Army.

“Officer. One-nine-nine-oh-five-six-oh-seven… Yeah, Pierce… Uh-huh. Froze, by the looks of it. Beat pretty good too… Crabapp—where’s that, then? Maine? Long way from home. Hmm… Okay. Alright, put me through… I’ll hold.”

Frank would give anything in the whole world to be able to stop this. It doesn’t matter how much he screams, no one can hear him. He tries to pry the phone away from the man but his fingers glide right through the receiver. 

“Yeah, hi, is this Dr. Daniel Pierce? I’m with the Suffolk County coroner’s office. I’m so sorry to tell you this but… a body has been found with dog tags belonging to your son… I’m afraid so, sir… How soon could you make it down to identify the body? Alright… Yes, I will. Take care now.”

Frank wants to let himself sink back into Hawk’s waiting arms… but he won’t. He may be too numb to feel anything other than cold, but the _guilt_ is managing to steadily seep its way into his chest.

Frank stands at attention, watching the clock. It only takes a little more than three hours before he sees Daniel Pierce walk through the door. He had dropped everything and left immediately. He has an air of quiet resignation. Honestly, he looks better than Frank had expected for a man who has just been informed for the _second_ time (falsely) that his only son has passed away. That is to say, Daniel was still functioning. 

When the sheet is folded down, Daniel’s eyes go wide. There is relief at first, then a deep look of mournful pity crosses his features.

“Please no, not… my boy. My God, _Frank_ ,” he whispers.

Daniel sorts everything out with the coroner and arranges to have his body sent back up to a funeral home in Crabapple Cove. 

Frank decides he doesn’t want to stick around for this anymore. He just wants Hawk again. Letting himself slide back into the welcoming arms of his (once) lover, Frank hides himself away. He doesn’t emerge until they are back home.

Home. Was it ever really his? Or did Hawkeye just let him stay there as another one of his cruel jokes? Hawkeye had told him they were done with all that, that it wouldn’t be like that anymore. That _he_ wouldn’t be like that anymore. Hawkeye had told him he… _cared…_ for him. Had promised him it would be different. And it was (until it wasn’t). It was all too much to hope for. Hawkeye would never change. Frank is a fool to ever have thought otherwise. 

“Ben! Are you here?” Daniel calls into the empty guesthouse. Upon receiving no reply, he enters the main house and calls out again. Again, he is met with silence. Under his breath, “Damn.”

Daniel sits down heavily on the couch. He closes his eyes and rubs at his face. Not knowing what else to do, Frank sits down in an armchair across from him. He twiddles his thumbs, wondering where Hawkeye is. 

After a while, Frank can hear soft sobs from Daniel. He wants to go to him, to comfort him… somehow. Not that he’d be of any use. Frank can’t even imagine what it must feel like to think you’ve lost your only son—twice. Again, he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” he tells him, with all the sincerity in the world. “I never should have taken his tags. It was stupid of me. Selfish. I just wanted something to… I’ve caused you so much pain. I—”

He stops because Daniel has started weeping in earnest now. In an effort to be polite, Frank averts his gaze. Not that this matters, of course. No one can see him. Still, he decides to give him some privacy and slips back into that empty place where Hawk still wants him.

Both men are startled back to consciousness when the phone rings. 

“Hello? Ben?” Daniel says, frantic. The tension leaves his body like a deflating balloon at the response from the other end of the line. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine… really… I know, I’m sorry. Listen, Ben. You need to come home. Not exactly… No. I’ll explain everything when you get here. No. I won’t have this conversation over the phone… I know… I’m sorry. Just… get here as soon as… How long? Okay. I will. Drive safe. I love you.”

After that, Daniel pulls a knit blanket over himself and curls up to sleep on the couch for the night. 

Frank just sits in the dark. He can sense Hawk tugging at him, whispering for him to come back. He doesn’t deserve that, though. He stays awake, watching over Daniel until Hawkeye returns. 

“Dad?” Hawkeye sounds frantic and tired with just that one word. Frank’s heart breaks when he hears it. “I’m home! Where are you?”

“Here!” Daniel calls back, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Hawkeye comes in, disheveled, coat hanging off one arm. His eyes are sunken, dull, ringed with red. He’s been crying. Frank can’t help himself, he’s on his feet and almost all the way to him when he remembers: _this_ Hawkeye doesn’t want him anymore (not that he could have him anyway). 

“What happened? Did you find him?”

“Sit down, son,” Daniel replies heavily.

Hawkeye doesn’t move. “Tell me.”

“I’m so sorry… I got a phone call. They found your dog tags—”

“Where? He took them when—did they say where?”

“Suffolk County, Massachusetts. But, Ben—” 

“Why did you have me come back? I need to go—”

“Benjamin,” Daniel stands and grabs him by the arm before he can rush back out the door. “Listen to me.”

Hawkeye looks at him like a horse that’s been spooked by a snake.

“...I’m so sorry… I don’t know how to tell you this…” Daniel’s eyes fill with tears. Hawkeye is shaking his head. (He knows where this is going and he doesn’t want to believe it.) “They called me because they needed me to identify your…” he swallows. _“His_ body.”

“No,” he whispers back.

“He was already gone when they found him.”

Frank can barely hear Hawkeye ask, “How?”

“I don’t think you want—”

“How.”

“Why don’t you just sit? I can make us some—”

_“How, dammit?!”_

Daniel stops, swallows, nods. “Combination of hypothermia and blunt force trauma.”

“Blunt f…?” His eyes begin to well.

“He was missing his wallet, coat, boots… they said it was likely a mugging. And then… when the nor’easter hit…”

Hawkeye sinks to his knees, arms wrapped around himself. He rocks back and forth, sobbing, and lets out a wail. Daniel kneels next to him and holds him close, shushing him and telling him it’s not his fault. 

And it’s not… except that it is. If Hawkeye hadn’t thrown him out in the first place, he never would have… No. He can’t blame Hawkeye for this. Frank was the fool who tried to get him to change. People can’t change, not really. If Frank could have just left it alone… But Hawkeye was going to kill himself if he kept on like that (livers don’t last forever). After all they’d been through… he couldn’t lose Hawkeye too. He’d let fear get the best of him. He always does.

Frank can’t watch. He’s always been a coward in life, why stop in death? He closes his eyes and falls into the dark bedroom, letting the _other_ Hawk pull him back into his icy grip.

* * *

The next morning, Daniel makes breakfast. Hawkeye doesn’t wake up until noon. 

Gently, Daniel says, “I made french toast and sausages.”

Hawkeye nods, still sluggish from sleep. 

“I called your friends…” he tells him, heaping a plate with breakfast food. “Margaret and BJ… they said they can be here as soon as tomorrow.”

Hawkeye gives him a puzzled look as he takes the plate. “Uh, that’s nice… why?”

“For the f… to be with you when, when you…” Daniel furrows his brow at his son. 

“When what?” Hawkeye asks through a mouthful of french toast.

Daniel is cautious when he replies, “Ben… do you… do you remember what happened yesterday?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” he says, dismissive, sniffing at a link of sausage speared on his fork. Then he looks up to meet his father’s eyes. “Are you feeling alright, Dad?”

“Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Daniel doesn’t know what to say to that. A few moments pass, looking at each other. 

Hawkeye breaks the silence with, “I feel like you’re dancing around something—” the same moment Daniel says, “Maybe you should call Sidney—”

Frank doesn’t want to be here anymore. He just wants to move on. Somewhere, somehow. Of course Hawkeye doesn’t really care about him. He was just feeling guilty because he threw Frank out into the snow. No wonder he got over it so fast.

He hears the _other_ Hawk’s ever-present voice growing louder, calling him back to bed. It sounds sour now. _That_ Hawk doesn’t want him any more than the real Hawkeye does. He goes back to him anyway. (It’s all he can do.)

* * *

It’s Margaret’s voice that finally brings him back. 

“Oh, Hawkeye! I’m so sorry we couldn’t get here any sooner,” she’s holding back tears, hugging him tightly. She gives the best hugs (firm, grounding). Frank wishes he could have one too. 

“Here, BJ, I’ll take your coat,” Daniel says. 

“Margaret, Beej!” Hawkeye is all smiles, embracing them both. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Of course we came, Hawk,” BJ reassures, perplexed but gentle. 

“Oh, this is just terrific! Frank will be so happy to see you again.”

The silence is so oppressive that Frank wants to disintegrate. Margaret and BJ share a look.

After a painful moment, Margaret asks, “I’m sorry?”

“Once he gets back,” Hawkeye says, still smiling.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” asks BJ. He’s managing to keep any emotion from his voice.

Hawkeye frowns. “No?”

Margaret mouths something at Daniel, who gives a helpless look.

“Back from where?” Margaret asks, tone deliberately light.

“From…” a moment of doubt graces his features before Hawkeye says dismissively, “Doesn’t matter. He’s out, but he’ll be back soon… But hey! You’re here! Are you staying in town or here with us? How’s Peg and Erin?”

“They’re alright,” BJ answers, measured.

“Excuse me, Dr. Pierce?” Margaret addresses Daniel purposefully. “I’ve had a very long flight. Would you mind showing me your powder room while the boys catch up?”

“Of course. And please, call me Dan.”

Frank follows them down the hallway, away from Hawkeye and BJ. 

Margaret and Dan talk in hushed voices. 

“Why didn’t you tell me he was _like this_ again?” Margaret asks.

“He wasn’t! Not when I called you,” Dan answers.

“Have you contacted Sidney yet?”

“Yeah, I called, but he said he won’t be able to get here until Friday.”

“But the funeral’s on Saturday!”

“I know.”

“How are we supposed to...?” she trails off, shakes her head.

Dan sighs. “I’ve just been going along with it. He doesn’t mention Frank unless… something reminds him.”

“Well given that’s the reason we’re _here,_ I think there might be a good chance that’ll happen.”

“Is it really so bad? I mean, he’s not hurting…” Dan trails off.

“He could lose his wits at any moment, Dan. Last time this happened, he drove a jeep into the officer’s club. And the time before that he couldn’t stop sneezing, gave himself hives, and made himself so sick he could hardly function! Who knows what he’ll do this time?”

“I know, I know…” Dan looks at the ground and wipes tears from his eyes.

Frank had never intended for any of this to happen. He doesn’t want this. 

He and Hawkeye had often shared moments of their pasts with each other. Frank had told Hawkeye about his childhood in Fort Wayne. How his brother would bully him, how his parents wouldn’t let him talk or make the noises his brain compelled him to. And Hawkeye had told Frank about the times when he had… _forgotten_ things. Things that hurt him. Things that were just _too much_ for his brain to handle. Repression is the proper term for it, Frank knows. He figures this must be what Hawkeye is doing now.

Frank isn’t sure exactly why, but somehow the idea that Hawkeye doesn’t want to remember him is so much worse than the idea that Hawkeye still hates him. He doesn’t have the stomach to wait around with Hawkeye until Sidney comes to help. Like always, he takes the easy way out. It may be _sour_ in that dark bedroom with Hawk, but at least he doesn’t have to see Hawkeye’s placid face. 

* * *

When Sidney finally does arrive, Frank only listens to a few words of their conversation before deciding to give them some privacy. He knows that _remembering_ is something Hawkeye wouldn't want him to see. Despite everything that has happened, he has enough respect (cowardice) to retreat into his mind once more. At least until he hears the screaming. 

He rushes back into the _real_ bedroom where Hawkeye sits on his bed, facing Sidney. Hawkeye is openly weeping, tears streaming down his face as he wails. 

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him,” is all Hawkeye says, over and over and over again.

If Frank still had a heart, it would have shattered.

* * *

Frank has never liked funerals. His own is no exception. But funerals aren’t for the dead—they’re for the living.

Louise has driven up with his girls. Honestly, he’s surprised she made the trip. He would have liked to talk with his children one last time, especially his youngest. She is the only Burns who cries that day.

Hawkeye spends the whole service in a drunken stupor. At the gravesite, when it’s time for everyone to toss a handful of dirt on Frank’s casket, Hawkeye nearly stumbles into the open grave. BJ catches him before he can fall and Hawkeye clings to him, sobbing.

Everyone is sad and nobody knows what to say and nothing anybody does will make anything better… and then it’s over. Now it’s time for the only part of a funeral that Frank has ever been able to appreciate—the luncheon. He remembers when he was fourteen years old and his grandmother died, his neighbors brought over a delicious chocolate cake. Then his family ate lasagna for a week because everyone kept bringing it over to them. Frank had always liked lasagna but, after that, it tasted like death. 

This lunch is held at a local diner. Hawkeye pours booze from a flask into his coffee. Margaret sees this but does not comment. Some locals Frank doesn’t recognize spot the Pierces from across the dining room and come by to pay their respects. Dan greets them courteously and accepts their condolences. Hawkeye picks up a french fry from the untouched pile on his plate. He gives it a sniff, then drops it back down.

Eventually, the time is up. Everyone leaves. They give their final well-wishes and head out the door. BJ goes back to his family. Margaret goes back to her career. Everyone else moves on. Hawkeye and Frank stay. Frank wonders how much longer they will both be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the third and final chapter is finished and will be posted very soon~


	3. Warming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally: communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story has a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/553J9BcwF7oqeE9WVd9DdC?si=ziz-hORdQfeE8PzfGpJVRg)
> 
> fun fact of the day: although it can make you feel warmer, [alcohol causes your blood vessels to dilate](https://www.livescience.com/41730-hypothermia-terminal-burrowing-paradoxical-undressing.html#:~:text=Drinking%20alcohol%20can%20actually%20help%20bring%20on%20hypothermia,,by%20a%20medical%20professional%20as%20soon%20as%20possible.), pulling the blood away from your heart and lowering your core body temperature. 
> 
> as always, HUGE thanks to [peaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms) and [Lee](https://oolongteawithpudding.tumblr.com/) for all their help!
> 
> love you all,  
> please enjoy ~

Hawkeye stumbles out the door barefoot, wearing only his pajamas. His face barely changes, as if he doesn’t register the cold snow under his feet. He walks out toward the tree line at the edge of the Pierce property, taking long pulls from his bottle. His steps grow uneven, he’s swaying as he walks. Just before he enters the pine thicket, he trips and falls to his knees.

Frank reaches out to catch him, hands gliding right through his arms. Hawkeye shivers, shaking the snowflakes from his hair, and takes another swig of scotch. 

Hawkeye looks around and calls, “Well, I’m here!”

Frank steps back, startled by the volume of his voice. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Hawkeye demands.

Frank furrows his brow. Who is he talking to?

“Come out ‘n face me, coward,'' Hawkeye slurs. He’s searching, desperate and out of his mind from the booze. “You can’t just follow me around… for weeks an’ then ignore me when I… You… ya gotta…” Tears and snot are running down his face but he makes no effort to control it. “Ya gotta let me… do this.” He sinks down and rolls over on his back in the soft snow. “Yeah, yeah, I know… ‘s cheating,” he addresses the empty air. “Can’t feel it in the ex… extra… estrem…” (he gives up) “Fingers ‘n toes. As much. When you’re drunk. Pulls the blood. From the heart… feels warmer…”

Hypothermia sets in quicker too, Frank thinks. Alcohol might be an effective frostbite prevention tool, but if he stays out here much longer he won’t have need of his extremities anyway.

But, no. That’s not how this ends. He can’t let Hawkeye die this way, cold and scared and all alone (just like he did). He kneels next to him and tries to shake him, to hit him, to do anything. All that happens is the faint  _ whoosh  _ of his form passing through Hawkeye’s shivering body. 

Frank lets out a shout of frustration, cursing Hawkeye for his foolishness. “What good is this going to do anyone?”

Hawkeye stares up at the sky, unseeing. “Supposed to… make me feel… less…”

“...Hawk?” Frank is quieter now, gentle disbelief. Can he hear him?

But there is no reply. 

Frank is a fool. He always has been. Still, he has to do something. Getting up, he runs back to the house and into the living room where Daniel had fallen asleep, feet propped up on the coffee table. A book rests atop the knit blanket on his lap.

He needs to get his attention somehow… if only Dan could  _ see _ him… but maybe he could see Hawkeye? Hawk had gone right out the front door and, from Dan’s position on the couch, the window overlooks the treeline. 

If Frank could just figure out a way to wake him... He draws near, placing his hands on Daniel’s arm, and lets his form slide through it. The hairs on his arm move with Frank’s motion. Daniel’s face scrunches up, a shiver runs through him and he tugs his blanket up a little higher. 

Frank tries again, passing his form through him over and over until Daniel becomes so uncomfortable that he opens his eyes. Yes! Now, how to make him look outside? Traveling to the window, Frank examines the shutters. They are closed but there’s no lock. Maybe he can… blow them open somehow? He tries several times to move the shutters the same way he woke Daniel, but to no avail. He must be able to interact  _ somewhat  _ with the air since he’s made people shiver and blew Daniel’s arm hair around. Why isn’t this working? Frank becomes so frustrated he lets out a shout of aggravation and runs full speed through the window. The shutters swing open behind him.

A flurry of snow swirls into the house. Daniel rubs his eyes and spies the source of the chill. Rising to his feet, he goes to close the shutters again but lingers, scanning the edge of the property. He must spot Hawkeye by the tree line because he’s putting on his coat and shoving his feet into boots the next moment. 

The sigh of relief Frank breathes is deep. Daniel makes his way out to his son, calling his name as he grows near. 

“Ben! What are you doing out here?”

Hawkeye is still shaking. Good. That means the hypothermia isn’t too severe yet.

“I j-just want-ted to f-feel wh-what he f-felt,” Hawkeye stutters, teeth chattering. His fingers still clutch the bottle.

Daniel’s eyes fall closed and he shakes his head. “Oh, Ben…”

There’s nothing else to say after that. Daniel helps him back into the house, sits him by the fire, and wraps him in warm fleece. Hawkeye’s face is blank now. No more tears. He no longer does things, they just  _ happen _ to him.

That’s just how it is for a while. Frank doesn’t know how long (time is weird for him now), but a beard has grown on Hawkeye and his graying hair is shaggier than Frank has ever seen it. It falls in his eyes and he makes no effort to move it. He doesn’t care to see anything anymore. He is gaunt, wasting away day by day. 

Frank hates to see him like this. He wishes there were something he could do or, in absence of that, somewhere he could  _ go _ to get away from it all. He seldom visits the  _ other _ Hawk in his mind anymore. While his time there used to be some small comfort, the kisses they share are sour now. So he stays here, with this one. This version of Hawkeye which has surpassed sadness and descended into something entirely  _ else. _ He doesn’t go to work, seldom speaks, and must be coaxed into eating and bathing by his father. Most of his time is spent nursing a bottle until he loses consciousness in front of the television set. On those nights he does make it to bed, Hawkeye does not rise until late in the afternoon (and even then, only to relieve himself and return to bed). 

Hawkeye has grown gaunt and his flesh and eyes are tinged with yellow. Frank knows what this means (jaundice). Daniel  _ must  _ know what this means, yet he does nothing. Frank is angry with Daniel at first. For not fighting. For giving up on him. But as the nights grow longer and darker… Frank eventually understands. No matter how hard you try, you cannot force another person to change—even if it’s out of love. Daniel has accepted this. Now it’s time for Frank to do the same.

One dark night, he gets the urge to travel outside again. Frank senses a faint glow of light somewhere in his peripheral vision. Turning toward it, he can feel gentle, radiating warmth. The world has been cold and dark for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to have sunlight on his cheeks but he thinks this must be it. He draws nearer, chasing after it. A tingling feeling dances across his skin—he can feel his toes again. The sensation grows brighter and  _ warmer  _ with every step. This isn’t like the dark room in his mind where Hawk waits to pull him back into sluggish revelry. This feels bright and calm and  _ right _ . But… he can’t just leave Hawkeye like this. Frank has to be there for him. For when he…

Frank swallows. He won’t let Hawkeye go through what he did. Not in the snow, and not… after. Even if Hawkeye still hates him. Even if he never truly cared for him. Frank will wait. However long it takes. He won’t let Hawkeye go scared and alone into this place. He shuts his eyes and turns his face away from the bronze-colored light, retreating into the house. His toes grow numb again. He can be cold a little while longer. 

* * *

They are together (apart) in the darkness. Hawkeye is lying on his side in the bed, looking toward the window but not  _ seeing. _ Frank stands against one wall, watching over him. Lately, he’s been talking to Hawkeye in soft, soothing tones while he sleeps. He knows Hawkeye can’t hear him, but it makes him less lonely. He pretends Hawkeye is listening. It’s kind of like praying, in a way. He used to have such strong faith in God but that disappeared pretty quickly after he realized his soul wasn’t going to Heaven. He wonders if this is the Purgatory that Catholics believe in. Somehow, he doesn’t think so. 

“I used to look out my bedroom window at night,” he tells Hawkeye, turning to watch the night outside with him. “I would look up at the stars and beg God to send me someone to talk to. I wanted a best friend. He didn’t send one. Alright, I said. That’s too much. Maybe I don’t deserve that. So I asked for just a  _ regular  _ friend. He didn’t send one of those either. I promised I would be good. All he had to do was send me someone to talk to. Anyone. I wouldn’t complain. He could even just make my  _ brother  _ nicer to me so I could talk to  _ him,” _ Frank shakes his head and smiles faintly. “All I really wanted was for my future self to show up and tell me it would all be okay. That he was older and wiser now and knew how to make people like him and he would teach me… I guess that’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“A bit…”

Startled, Frank looks back at the bed. Hawkeye does mumble things occasionally, a word or two here and there, but this almost seems like… a reply?

“...Hawkeye?” Frank asks, tentative.

No response.

Of course not. Why would there be? Frank stands quietly for a few moments, letting his eyes wander out the window again. Then, there is the unmistakable feeling that someone is watching him. Slowly, he turns his head to see that Hawkeye is sitting up on the edge of the bed. Hawkeye looks him dead in the eye, sighs, and gazes out the window again.

For a moment, Frank cannot speak. Had he just looked at him? Looked at him and  _ seen _ him? He takes a step forward and whispers, “You can see me?”

Hawkeye shrugs. 

“Wh-what—why didn’t you say—?” Frank sputters out. 

“I see you all the time.” Hawkeye’s not looking at him. His lips barely even move. 

“But why haven’t you said anything until now?!”

Hawkeye shrugs again, still looking out the window. “You never talked to me before.”

Frank squints, thinking. He’s been talking to Hawkeye for a while but, now that he considers it, he always waits until Hawkeye has fallen asleep (it makes him less self-conscious). Tonight felt different somehow. The moonbeams casting pale light on Hawkeye’s catatonic form just… stirred something in him. 

Frank shakes his head once, quickly. It doesn’t matter. Hawkeye can  _ see _ him. He can  _ hear _ him. What does that  _ mean? _

That’s when Frank’s gaze drifts down to where Hawkeye is lying (head against the pillow, eyes unseeing) and then back up to where Hawkeye is sitting (upright, edge of the bed). There’s two of him. No, that’s not right. More like two  _ halves. _

“Hawkeye…” Frank says, warily. He doesn’t want to startle him. He doesn’t think Hawkeye has noticed yet. “Look at me.”

“What,” Hawkeye says quietly, without inflection.

Their eyes meet again. Frank approaches as if Hawkeye is a baby bird that’s fallen from its nest. “Do you know what it means? That you can see me?” he asks gently.

“I’m hallucinating?”

Frank tries again, “That you can  _ talk  _ to me?”

But now Hawkeye is looking  _ past _ him, to something just behind (beyond) him. Frank glances over his shoulder and sees nothing but the dark empty room. When he looks back, Hawkeye is… fading. Retreating somewhere else. Somewhere easier.

“Wait,” Frank reaches out to touch him just as Hawkeye disappears completely, “don’t go.” Frank sighs, hand sliding through the empty air.

Casting his gaze back to where Hawkeye’s body lies, he lets his eyes go out of focus. He gives himself a moment to breathe (or, something that  _ approximates _ breathing) before blinking the tears away. The body on the bed grows colder with every moment Hawkeye is away. Frank hopes Hawkeye won’t be there too long. He doesn’t know what memory Hawkeye has decided to enter, but he does know the longer he stays the harder it will be to return. 

So Frank waits. Again. Hours pass. Nagging anxiety eats away at his gut. What if Hawkeye doesn’t come back at all? What if that was  _ it? _ What if Hawkeye had moved on, not even taking the time to recognize him as real before leaving forever?

“Hawk—!” Frank tries to shout but it comes out as a choked cry. His throat feels raspy. He hasn’t spoken above a whisper for so long he’s nearly forgotten how to do so. He clears his throat. “Hawkeye!” he calls again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know you can hear me now! If you’re still in this room please  _ listen _ and come back. I—I have to talk to you. It took me so long to understand but I think I can make it easier for you if you’ll just let me talk to you. Please, I know it’s scary and lonely at first but I’m here too and I’ll help you—”

“What’s happening?” The voice is soft, scared. Frank opens his eyes to see Hawkeye standing mere feet away from him. He’s looking down at his own body. “Nah, no, no, no, no,” Hawkeye repeats over and over, shaking his head, disbelieving. “That’s not—I’m not—”

Frank rushes to his side. “It’s okay, I—”

“Why are you here?” cries Hawkeye, eyes shining.

Frank flinches. “I was…” the weight of his chest drops to pool in his gut. “I was waiting for you…”

“Waiting? You gonna haunt me now that I’m  _ dead _ too?”

“Haunt you? What? No, I wasn’t—I’m not!” Frank is confused. He is here to  _ help _ Hawkeye. This isn’t at all how he planned this conversation in his head. “Why would I haunt you?”

Tears are rolling freely down Hawkeye’s cheeks as he says, “Because I killed you!”

Frank shakes his head, his own eyes welling up, “You didn’t.”

“I did! I threw you out in the snow and you froze to death and it’s all my fault—”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“How can you say that! I fucked everything up and you  _ died, Frank!” _

“I fucked it up too, Hawkeye. I told you to change when you weren’t ready and I didn’t give you any other option. I should’ve got you help, not fought you.”

The words hang heavy in the air around them. Then, tentatively, Hawkeye asks, “Is that  _ really _ you, Frank? I’m not just…  _ seeing _ what I want to see again?”

Frank whispers, “You want to see me?”

“It’s all I’ve wanted every day since you left. I’m so sorry, Frank,” Hawkeye sobs.

Frank steps forward and wraps his arms around Hawkeye as lightly as falling snow. Hawkeye’s form does not ignore Frank’s touch the way Daniel’s did. He can feel the shape of Hawkeye’s presence mingling with his own, neither fully solid nor spirit.

“I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

Hawkeye weeps onto Frank’s shoulder, nodding and mumbling  _ of course _ and  _ I’m sorry _ and  _ it’s you. _

After some time, Hawkeye steps back and tells Frank what is weighing on his heart. “I feel like I have to go someplace but… I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s okay. I know the way now.” Frank reaches out his hand for Hawkeye to take. 

Hawkeye is tentative, brow furrowed in uncertainty. For once, Frank isn’t afraid. He knows what to do now. Frank takes Hawkeye’s hand in his and feels  _ warmth _ flow through his fingers and up his arm, bleeding across his chest and filling up his core. He leads them outside and closes his eyes to better feel that distant bronze light shining on his skin. Hawkeye can feel it too. Frank squeezes his hand and turns to face the light head-on, eyes open, ready.

“Where are we going?” Hawkeye asks.

Frank smiles. “That way.”

“What’s that way?”

“Someplace warm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you stuck around for the end, thank you so much for reading! lmk if this made u cry<3

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if this gave you an emotion  
>    
> [come talk to me on tumblr <3](https://captainafab.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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